Anathema
by The World in Black and White
Summary: Hadriel, the dark one, the most powerful creature to ever be born, in any world. He was locked away deep within himself, and placed on the mortal realm in a desperate attempt to protect him from those who would see him condemned for his heritage. This is his story, Harry's story, the story of the anathematized. So begins the end of all things…
1. Chapter 1: The End is Only the Beginning

Summary: Hadriel, the dark one, the most powerful creature to ever be born on this earth. He was locked away deep within himself, and placed on the mortal realm in a desperate attempt to protect him from those who would see him condemned for his heritage. This is his story, Harry's story. _So begins the end of all things…_

Notes: This is kind of a mash-up of all 3 eras, Tom Riddle, the Marauders and HP. This is also a bit of a crossover with Diablo 3. It will contain a lot of elements from that game (mainly characters), but if you're not familiar with the game, that's fine. I'll do my best to explain it in a way that you won't need to be. But for all my fellow fans out there… MALTHAEL FOREVER! P.S. Hadriel never existed like in the game. Just disregard everything you ever knew about him. I just liked the name cause it sounds like Hadrian, which sounds like Harry… hehe… why are you looking at me like that? Also, this is how I figure it; the hoods the angels wear stop mortals from being blinded by them, but other angels can see their faces. Okay? Great. Moving on~!

Disclaimer: If I owned HP it would go like this, and if I owned Diablo Malthael would have kicked ass and the Nephalem would have been his lover and they would have ruled the world. Muahahaha…

Malthael Malthael Malthael Malthael Malthael Malthael Malthael Malthael Malthael Malthael

"Run, Arael!" The Prime Evil's voice rang out through the castle, but he need not have made such an order. Arael was already running, clutching her newborn babe to her breast as she did so.

She dared not turn around as she fled across the courtyard, even as her lover screamed in agony and split into the beings that would be forever known as the Prime Evils. She just continued running, for the life of the babe, her beloved Hadriel, in her arms.

He was all that mattered now.

She ran, ran until she reached the surface, and the light blinded her, but she continued. Continued running like the wings she had shed were still with her, lending her their strength as she raced through the decrepit mortal realm, screaming for her mother.

"Mother! Auriel! Please! Please help me…" she sobbed, collapsing mid stride in exhaustion and just barely shielding her child from the blow. Just before she hit the ground, however, two strong and familiar arms caught her and held her against a dark, armoured chest.

She gazed tearfully up at her father, Malthael, the angel of death. Perhaps, in a way, it was fitting that the child of the angel of death and the angel of hope would fall in love as she did, as she was fated to from conception, through her youth and into her adulthood, when she made the decision to fall, fall from heaven and into her lover's arms.

"Your mother is waiting for us." Was all she heard, before she was whisked away by the imposing figure, bone-like wings stretching across the sky as he flew with impossible speed to the portal, to the place where she would have to bid her beloved child farewell, forever, if she hoped for him to live.

Knowing this, she could not help but sob and hold the baby a little tighter to her, and the only response from her father was the slight tightening of his arms around her as he continued on, as impassive as ever.

It took a truly remarkable individual to touch his heart, and that was a privilege afforded to her mother, Auriel, for however long it lasted. However, he had never neglected her, his daughter, and for that she was more grateful than he could know, would ever know.

The time it took them to reach her mother passed in a way that she could not describe. It was like water, running through her fingers, lost time with her son, flowing away, never to be found. Her heart was heavy, and she knew that this would be the last blow dealt to her fragile heart. She would not survive the loss of her beloved child, that much was certain.

Malthael landed smoothly, seeming to glide over the ground and he had barely placed her on her feet before Auriel swooped her into her warm, comforting embrace, wings folding slightly to envelope her, as though to shield her from pain.

"Mother…" she sobbed, and her mother crooned softly in reply. "Please… my baby…" she held the baby, wrapped in the very fabric of the cosmos, up to her mother in a silent plea for him to be taken by someone who could hold him.

Her mother was reluctant to let her go and, as a result, it was her father who took the child, swiftly turning from them so they would not see the soft expression on his face, hidden by his hood.

The child looked like a combination of the four of them. His hair was as black as Malthael's had ever been, but the ringlet curls were Auriel's. His skin was pale like his mother's, not deathly like Malthael's own, nor golden like Auriel, but more of a porcelain white, with rosy cheeks. He could tell that the eyes were his father's, though. Different colours, all swirling together. Appearing and fading to make room for the next, glittering and glowing and Malthael felt like he was staring into the heart of the world in those eyes.

In a fleeting moment, he wondered what became of the being his daughter had given her everything for, but the moment barely lasted before his attention was once more captivated by the infant in his arms.

"Yes, sweet one?" he murmured softly, on hand reaching up to catch the boy's own, and he watched in silent awe as the tiny hand curled into a fist around his finger.

The sound of tinkling laughter made him turn slightly to see Auriel and Arael staring at him with identical expressions of soft love. Auriel, he had once loved her, he knew that, but now felt no more fondness for her than he did for the once-angel at her side. The child, however, he knew he was doomed to love for all eternity.

"He is beautiful." Auriel commented, smiling when the child looked her way, before his gaze fixed on his mother.

"He is the most beautiful being in existence." Arael agreed. "Malthael." She held out her arms in a silent, yet respectful, demand for her child.

"It is time." Auriel sighed, stroking her daughter's brow.

"Fear not, this will not be the end. Rather, I daresay it shall be his beginning." Malthael intoned, as Arael sniffled softly, kneeling before the pool.

Arael couldn't reply, her voice seemed to be choking her and her hands clutched at her child instinctively, afraid to leave him to venture alone into the unknown.

"He will be safe." Auriel told her. "The blossoms will see to that." She pulled out some of her sacred blossoms, from her Garden of Hope, and let the cherry blossom petals float on the surface.

"This will give him protection from my domain." Malthael placed a pure white lotus blossom on the pool.

"And with this, we shall seal him within himself." Arael finished, taking a small, white stone with an ornate black H engraved on it from her mother and placing it over her child's heart. She watched as it glowed, sinking into the skin and engulfing her child in light before fading away, leaving the mortal babe in her arms in place of the presence she had grown used to in the 24 hours she had had with him. "Please give Tyrael my sincerest thanks. There is nothing that could ever repay the gift he has given us."

"Tyrael wished to see the child survive just as desperately as we all did." Malthael replied. "To think that Imperius would go so far as to attack Hell, it's…" he trailed off, at a loss for words.

"Disgustingly in character?" Auriel supplied, a rare moment of unforgiving hatred before she returned to her usual gentle countenance.

"You are so loved, Hadriel, remember that." Arael whispered, once again wrapping her baby in the fine cloak, engraved with an H, before placing him on the surface of the water, one tear falling onto his forehead before he was carried away from her, forever, and fell over the side of the High Heavens.

Arael collapsed to the ground, sobbing her heartbreak as she cried for what was denied her forevermore. Her chance to hold her son, her lover, her family. Her chance to watch him grow into the beautiful boy he would undoubtedly be. To watch him fall in love in turn, to have children of his own. To save the world, or even just an ant. She would never see him do any of these things. And that was the last thing she knew, before she knew nothing at all.

Auriel let out a soft sob at the sight of her daughter's empty body.

"She suffers no more." Malthael said coldly, and Auriel couldn't help but smile when she recognised the attempt at comforting her, knowing that was all she would ever get, now that their only tie was gone.

"Keep her well, Malthael."

"Of course."

Meanwhile, a lady with a black dress and hood over her head, and a cross over her chest, heard the sound of knocking on the door. When she went to open it, there was no one there, and, suddenly in an all-too familiar situation, she looked down to find the expected babe, abandoned on the top step.

With a heavy sigh, she reached down and lifted the child into her arms, turning and closing the door behind her firmly. Carelessly, she noted the fine features, curly black locks and pale skin and instantly assumed the child to be female. Lucky for it, she thought, given that it was an all girls' orphanage.

Walking into the nursery, she disinterestedly placed the baby in the third and last crib in the room, glancing back once to make sure it was really sleeping before closing the door behind her firmly and went back to watching her soap opera.

Sitting back down, she scowled. The stupid brat had made her miss the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2: Greyscale Boy

Marisa jolted wake in her bed, breaths still coming in soft pants as her slightly feverish eyes darted about the room, searching every shadow.

It had just been a dream…

She hoped.

Not willing to take any chances, and with the fear of whatever the monster that had haunted her unconscious mind was firmly ingrained in her, she ran straight into the nursery and confirmed what her strange dream had told her.

The child was male. A boy.

Her mind ran through all the possibilities at an unprecedented rate. It was too risky to simply tell him he was female... far too risky to force him to crossdress as a girl. What if he was caught getting changed?

He mind buzzed, even as she pelted up the stairs, leaving the confused and frightened babe in the lobby on the ground. She reached the top floor, where most of the empty rooms were, and opened a small door in the wall that was in a dark corner of the corridor, hidden, hunching down to fit through it and climbing the narrow staircase until she reached the large attic.

There was a large skylight in the roof which gave the dusty room its light, as well as a large window and window seat at one end, overlooking the backyard and grounds of the orphanage. It was empty, but it wouldn't be too hard to move some furniture in here, make it habitable for an occupant… yes, she decided. That would be exactly what she would do.

Perhaps in a moment of guilt over what she was about to do to an innocent child, or a shiver of fear in remembrance of her horrid dream just that night, Marisa decided to go out and buy more furniture for the attic room than there was in the other, tiny rooms that simply consisted of drawers with a basin and mirror, a bed and an end table, but she ended up buying an armoire as well as a bookshelf and desk.

By evening she was panting and exhausted, but satisfied with what her hard work resulted in. The now clean and habitable attic, along with some vents in the wall and the skylight just slightly, and, most importantly, unnoticeably, cracked open, made a rather lovely room.

Of course, she was very glad for the plumbing being connected in the corner, with what had been (once she had moved the boxes to one of the bedrooms) a bathroom, hidden by a curving half-wall and frosted glass. It had only taken her a little while to realise that this must have been the original owner's bedroom, back when the orphanage was first built.

Her first response was to feel a little cheated, especially at the sight of the beautiful piano and other instruments that she simply could not be bothered moving, thinking of her small room on the cramped ground floor, before reminding herself that this was for the best.

She eyed the large amount of book-filled boxes, simply too heavy for her to lift down the narrow and steep staircase by herself, all in a corner next to the bathroom.

She walked back downstairs, picking up the now softly sniffling baby, still wrapped in the enviously expensive fabric, before walking up the stairs once more and placing it –him- in the crib, after feeding him for the first time that day.

She carefully unwrapped the strange fabric he was in, placing it on the twin-bed, made with white sheets and a black comforter, only just realising in passing the utter lack of colour in the room, especially given the grey-silver tone of the boy's eyes. In fact, it drew her attention that the only colour in the room was the rich, dark purple of the soft pile of fabric that now lay on the bed.

With one last, final look back at the now sleeping baby in the crib, she descended the stairs, closing the trapdoor that lay at the top of them and then walking out the door, locking that behind her and leaving, trying to wipe the horrible feeling of being watched from her psyche.

It wasn't like she was doing anything wrong.

0-o-0-o-0

_**Almost eleven years later…**_

Anathema sat at his window, like he usually did at this time of day (whatever day it was) with a book that he wasn't really reading (for the… fifth time) and staring down at the children playing in the yard with an air of resigned envy about him.

He had never left his room, his greyscale room where the only source of colour was the yellowing pages of his books and music and the beautiful cloak that he had always had, and was convinced his parents had given him. It was truly a beautiful cloak, the rich, purple material felt like water in his hands, pleasantly cool (though his room was always cold) and almost gentle, sitting on him lightly, like a layer of air.

With a sigh, he brushed his thoughts to one side and, leaving the book face down and open on the seat, went and sat at his beautiful, black piano. Lifting his hands softly, he gently placed them on the lovingly worn keys and began playing a song he wrote, River Flows in You (A/N: This is a song by Yiruma, and I recommend anyone to listen to it and his other work. They are amazing, beautiful and inspiring). Easily slipping into the familiar sensation of losing himself in his music, he failed to notice the owl sitting disapprovingly next to his skylight, peering down with an ornate letter in its beak and quickly realising that there was no way in, before flying away with a huff.

No, the pale boy simply sat there at his piano, lost in his music, the world beyond his room inconsequential.

_Nothing can touch me; I'm not real – I don't exist!_

0-o-0-o-0

Marisa was sitting in her room on the ground floor, minding her own business and watching telly, when, of all things, an owl flew in her window, dropped a letter on her lap and proceeded to sit on her sill and stare at her expectantly.

Decidedly terrified, she picked up the letter, squinting slightly to read it without taking her eyes off the bird.

The first thing that she noticed was the ornate and elaborate crest, an H with four different animals around it. The second thing that jumped out at her was the recipient.

_Mr. Anathema_

_Window Seat, Attic Room, St Mary's Orphanage for Girls', High Wycombe_

With a soft scream she let the letter fall from her hands, but only remained in such a state for a few moments before furiously picking the offending item up off the floor and throwing into the fire.

"No! Shoo! Off with you! Get away from here! Stay away from here! I want nothing to do with any of this freakishness! Be gone with you!" she shrieked, punctuating her words with frantic and slightly fearful waves of her arms in the bird's direction. Thankfully, it seemed enough to startle the creature into flying away.

That evening, when it was time for her to bring up the Boy's dinner, she simply placed it on the step, knocked on the trap door and practically ran out, locking the door firmly behind her and leaving as fast as she could.

It continued like this until the end of the week.

0-o-0-o-0

"Are you absolutely certain this is the place, Albus?" Professor Marvolo Slytherin said, sneering with distaste at the old coot, looking first at the letter, which was clearly addressed to a _Mister_, and then to the building in front of them, which was clearly an orphanage for _Girls_.

"Quite certain, Tom." The old man said, twinkling happily as he stepped past the young man and began walking up the path to the door, ridiculous robes (bright orange with horribly clashing rainbows) swishing around his feet and beard safely tucked into his belt.

"For the last time, old man, my name is _Marvolo_. _Not _that filthy Muggle's." he snarled, sneer deepening at the thought of the man who sired him.

"Oh, come now, Tom. You're only really kidding yourself." Albus chastised lightly as he rang the doorbell.

"And everyone who is loyal to me and didn't attend Hogwarts' at the same time as myself…" he muttered, slightly petulantly for the twenty-five year old that he was, moving to stand beside, and loom over, his, though he hates to admit it, mentor.

"Yes, what-" the words cut off as soon as the decidedly unpleasant woman caught sight of them, and she went a strange shade of eggshell. "What do you want?!" she hissed viciously, surprising both of them. "Who are you?!"

"Madame, I can assure you that there is no need for any alarm. We are simply here to discuss a Mister…" there was a pause as Albus consulted the letter. "Anathema."

At the name, the woman went from eggshell to looking like she had seen a ghost. "The… the b-boy?" she stammered out, and Marvolo's eyes narrowed, recalling his own childhood experiences in an orphanage, before he was taken in by Albus and lived at Hogwarts. "W-what do you w-want with the b-boy?"

"Simply to offer him a place in our school." Albus reassured her. He opened his mouth to elaborate, but she cut him off.

"Fine! Take him away, I never want to see the child again, do you hear me?!" she threw the door open and began walking away, up the stairs and leaving the two men to gape before collecting themselves and hastily following to catch up with the woman, who was walking at such a pace that both had to jog to catch up.

She led them up through the four levels of the orphanage, until she reached the unused corridor and the door that would lead them to the attic.

Unlocking it, she held it open to them to pass, hands shaking slightly and she gulped audibly, drawing their attention back to herself, rather than to what lay up the narrow staircase.

"I n-never asked for this. I never wanted any part of it!" she cried, voice shaking as she turned on her heel and ran down the stairs, out of their sight.

Exchanging a significant glance, both men prepared themselves for what they were sure was going to be a worst case scenario. Cautiously pushing up the trap door leading to what they assumed was the attic room mentioned on the letter, both gasped audibly at the sight of the boy playing the piano. (A/N: the song he is playing now is Mirai Nikki Volume 2 Track 5 (Most Emotional OST's). Again, beautiful piece, and I recommend it.)

The boy was like a greyscale painting, with white skin and black ringlets that created a beautiful contrast. What they could see of his eyes was a grey colour, tinged with silver and creating the slightly luminous feel they had, enhanced by the long, curling lashes that framed them and descended onto graceful cheekbones, which served as leading lines to the small, straight nose, which automatically drew their gaze to the puffy, cupid's bow, equally white lips.

Unfortunately, it seemed the sound of their gasp carried, because the next thing either of them knew the boy was away from the piano and on the other side of it, backed up against the wall and staring at the with all the fright and confusion of an injured and cornered, helpless, wild animal.

Secretly, Tom couldn't help but compare him to a kitten.


End file.
